33. If You Give a Pig a Pancake #2
Eddie’s on my other side, and when there’s a lull in the action, he nudges me. “Is something up with you and Number Sixteen? Mister Hockey has been staring at you this whole freaking morning like he wants to have you on his pancakes.”
A tingle coasts down my spine, but a kernel of worry rolls along it too. “We’re…friends,” I say, because that’s true enough.
Eddie sketches air quotes. “Yes, friends. Did you know my hubs and I were friends at one point as well?”
“Then you understand,” I say, avoiding the topic with an oh so innocent smile.
“I understand,” he says, then lets his gaze drift to Wes. “I understand everything.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say softly.
He pats my shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I got you, girl.”
And I believe that about Eddie. But I also can’t help but wonder about this possessive side of Wesley.
Is it going to be a problem tonight? If Wes is this obvious here, will he be able to hide it when I go to the game?
Will his teammates figure us out? Will people talk? And, most of all, will that hurt him?
I better prepare thoroughly for the game. Maybe I can figure out how to interact with him so it’s not obvious I spend every night in his bedroom. I know! I’ll devise a list of do’s and don’ts.
Like, do cheer subtly and don’t maul him in the corridor post-game. Like, do say hi to everyone, and don’t flash my sports bra at Number Sixteen.
Yes, that’s a plan.
But I’m pulled from those thoughts when a family with young kids marches up to the breakfast line, and a young girl with her towhead hair in pigtails holds out a plate and says, “Pancakes, please.”
“Of course. And did you know if you give a pig a pancake…” I begin as I serve her a flapjack from my tray.
“She’ll want some syrup to go with it,” the girl says with a bright smile, finishing the next line in the popular kids’ book If You Give a Pig a Pancake.
She turns to Wesley with big expectant eyes. He looks down at her plate, and I figure he’ll give her another pancake. “You’ll give her some of your favorite maple syrup,” he says, surprising me.
He’s reciting a line in a children’s book? Who is this man?
The towhead does a little jig. “She’ll probably get all sticky!” That’s the next line.
Unable to contain her pig and pancake glee, the young blonde kid recites the next several lines in the kids’ book till her dad says, “All right, Ellie. Let’s leave the nice librarians alone.”
Nice librarians, I mouth to Wes.
“Thank you, Mister Librarian,” Ellie says to Wes, then to me, “And Miss Librarian. I read that book karaoke style.”
That catches my attention. I don’t hear that often but I know exactly what she means.
That’s an assistive technology the library offers in the kids’ section.
The words light up on the screen, like karaoke highlights, as the book’s read to you.
It helps readers follow along, and helps those who learn in different ways.
The night he told me he had dyslexia, Wesley mentioned he’d used tech like this as a kid. Right now, his face lights up—it’s a look I’ve never seen before. A sort of pure delight. “Dude. Me too,” he says to her, then offers a fist for knocking.
Ellie stands on tiptoes and knocks fists with him. “I read them all like that. With my app and my headphones.”
He leans closer, like he’s telling her a secret. “My dad made me read like that.”
“Mine too! Did you read them all that way? The moose and the dog and the mouse?” she says, rattling off the characters in the other books in the series.
My heart is so full I don’t even know what to do with it. The way it’s beating. The way I’m smiling. I steal a glance at Ellie’s dad. He’s looking down at her with pride in his eyes.
Wes nods. “Every last moose and muffin,” he says with a sigh, but it’s not an annoyed one. It’s more a sigh of solidarity—a been there, done that sound.
“Same!” Ellie gazes longingly at her plate of pancakes.
“But I’m hungry so I should go eat. If you find any more books, let me know, Mister Librarian.
” She’s about to leave when her brow knits and she adds, “But you might be a firefighter.” Then she looks to me.
“And you might be a firefighter too. Whatever you are, thank you!”
She skips off to eat, and I turn to Wes, too delighted to even know where to start—the way he talked to her, or the way she talked to him. But I bet he won’t want me to home in on the tools he used as a kid, so I say, “She thinks you’re a librarian.”
“And that you’re a firefighter. Too bad Halloween’s passed. We could have dressed up like that…or maybe next year.”
Those last two words echo in my mind—next year. Is he imagining a future costume party with me? Or is that just what you say? No idea, so I stay focused on the present and that moment. “Also, I think you made her day,” I say.
He shrugs like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing.
That was a real connection, and I want him to know that.
Sometimes I think he demands perfection of himself, even when it comes to reading.
He might not like it, but just letting a kid know that he learned the same way she did is a very big deal.
“It’s great when a kid can meet an adult who learns and reads like they do. ”
He gives me that generous smile that hits me straight in the chest like it did the night we met. It’s the kind that makes me think he wants to kiss me instead of talk. Which is fine by me, because it’s also an acknowledgment that he did make her day.
“Glad I was here then,” he says as bells jangle nearby, a sign that Thalia’s headed in our direction.
“And honestly, maybe my dad made me, but damn, that was a good series. Personally, I’d recommend If You Give a Dog a Donut.
It’s underrated, but might be the best of the bunch…
Maybe add it to Your Next Five Reads book recs, and in all formats. ”
Thalia arrives at the table, giving Wes an approving look. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. The first ones in that series are always checked out. We should promote the next ones, Josie.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, beaming as I picture the display already.
I can show the hardbacks but also put up a placard with info on where to download a free text-to-speech app as well as the audiobooks.
And as a bonus, maybe all this effort I’m putting into the recs will make Thalia’s reference for me stand out even more.
Thalia smiles at Wes, then sticks out a hand. “I’m Thalia. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” he says, shaking. “I’m Wesley.”
“Oh, I know who you are. And I’d appreciate it if you’d destroy Colorado tonight. I hate their team so much,” she says with a growl that reveals some serious vitriol for his opponent.
“Me too,” Wesley says. “So, count on that.”
She gives a crisp nod—my boss, who’s evidently a hardcore hockey fan—then heads off while Wesley turns from me to serve another family.
I’m a little amazed by this man and his hidden talents. But perhaps more awestruck at my matchstick reaction that came out of nowhere. At my unexpected desire to protect him.
But as I watch him, his ease with people, his charm, I realize my reaction didn’t truly come out of nowhere. It was born from the last month and a half of getting to know him.
* * *
Later, after we’ve cleaned up, we head to the car. “We can mark off number six now,” I say.
Wes shakes his head, sad boy face in effect. “No, we can’t.”
“Why? That was volunteer work for you and me.” I’m confused. Why wouldn’t we cross it off?
He sighs deeply, and once we’re alone in the car, he runs a hand down my leg. “Doesn’t count. I said yes because I was feeling jealous and possessive.”
My reaction is slow—a blink, then a long stare.
Before Tom even arrived at the book display, Mister Hockey was jealous of the attention I might have received from the firemen?
“You showed up today because you were pre-jealous?” I’m secretly fizzy from this revelation as we leave, pulling into traffic.
“And justifiably so,” he says, owning it. “But we still need to work on the list.”
It’s a good reminder that we have a project to focus on. Wes is around for a few more days, then he travels again for a stretch of games. Time will run out if we’re not careful, and we won’t get to finish the list.
“What if we volunteer at a dog rescue for the next month? Seems we should do the volunteer part more than once anyway. So it should be a month-long thing,” he says as he drives along a hilly city street.
A warm, hazy sensation spreads in my chest. A month feels like it means something. It feels like a part of figuring this out. Like it’s somehow something that connects us even more to each other.
Settle down—you’re living together for at least another month. That’s all it means.
“We should,” I say, keeping my voice even so I don’t read something that isn’t there at all in the let’s do it for a month idea.
“And a dog rescue feels right. For both of us,” I say, trying to ignore the flutters in my chest. Then I notice the sticker curling at the edges of his shirt.
“Did you wear this sticker, too, to stake a claim on me?”
He nods, proud and certain. “I did.”
Funny—there’s something I want to stake a claim on. Something I’ve been imagining since I moved in with him.
Maybe it’s something I can do after the game. And just like that, I have a plan for tonight—what to do during the game, and what to do after.